The Desired Woman(Fiscle Part-3 Of 2) by Will N. Harben (e book reader pdf TXT) 📕

Looking For Something. Mostyn Caught Her Eye,  And She Gave Him A

Hurried But Sympathetic Look. He Decided That He Would Sound Her.

"Do You Think An Operation Will Be Necessary?" He Asked.

Her Glance Fell. "I Have Only Dr. Loyd's Opinion. He Thinks So,  And I

Have Never Known Him To Be Wrong In Diagnosing A Case."

"He Thinks,  Also,  I Believe"--Mostyn's Voice Sounded As Hollow As A

Phonograph--" That The Child Has Hardly Strength Enough To Resist The

--The Ordeal?"

She Raised Her Eyes As If Doubting Her Right To Converse On The

Subject. "I Think He _Is_ Afraid Of That," She Admitted. "Your Child

Is Very,  Very Sick."

"And You--You,  _Yourself?_" Mostyn Now Fairly Implored. "According To

_Your_ Experience,  Do You Think There Is A Chance Of His Living

Through It?"

"I Really Can't Say--I _Mustn't_ Say," She Faltered. "I Am Only

Judging By Dr. Loyd's Actions. He Is Very Uneasy. Mr. Mostyn,  I Have

No Right To Speak Of It,  But Your Wife Ought To Be Here. The Doctor

Says She Is Out Of Town. She Ought To Get Here If Possible; She Will

Always Regret It If She Doesn't. I Am A Mother Myself,  And I Know How

She Will Feel."

Mostyn Stifled A Reply Which Rose To His Lips. He Heard,  Rather Than

Saw,  Her Leave The Room,  For A Mist Had Fallen On His Sight. In The

Patient's Chamber Above There Was The Grinding Of Feet On The Floor.

The Chandelier Overhead Shook. The Crystal Prisms Tinkled Like Little

Bells. Presently The Nurse Came To Him.

"Dr. Loyd Instructed Me To Say"--She Was Looking Down On His Clasped

Hands--"That They Have Agreed That The Operation Must Be Performed At

Once. They All Think It Is The Only Chance."

An Hour Later The Aiding Doctors Came Down The Stairs,  Glided Softly

Past The Sitting-Room Door,  And Passed Out. He Called To One Of Them.

"Is The Operation Over?" He Asked.

The Doctor Nodded Gravely. He Had Taken A Cigar From His Pocket,  And

Was Biting The Tip From The End. "It Was The Worst Appendix I Ever

Saw,  Fairly Rotten. Loyd Will Show It To You. It Is A Serious Case,

Mostyn. If Loyd Pulls Him Through It Will Be A Miracle. Peritonitis

Has Already Set In,  And There Is Very Little Heart-Action. He Is

Sleeping Now,  Of Course,  And Every Possible Thing Has Been Done And

Will Be Done. He Is In The Best Of Hands. We Can Do Nothing But Wait."

It Was Near Dawn. Mostyn Was Pacing Back And Forth On The Grass In

Front Of The House. The Dark Eastern Horizon Was Giving Way To A

Lengthening Flux Of Light. A Cab Drove Up To The Door,  And A Man And A

Woman Got Out. It Was Mrs. Moore And Old Mitchell. Mrs. Moore Reached

Her Brother First,  And Tenderly Clasped His Hands. As Well As He Could

He Explained The Situation.

"Hilda Telephoned Me," Mrs. Moore Went On,  In A Low,  Matter-Of-Fact

Tone. "She Was Almost In Hysterics,  And I Could Not Understand Her

Fully. I Thought The Operation Was To Be Done There,  And So I Dressed

And Went In A Cab. Then I Found That Mr. Mitchell Wanted To Come,  And

So I Brought Him On."

The Old Man Tottered Forward. For Once He Had No Comment To Make. He

Passed Them,  Slowly Ascended The Steps,  Went Into The Waiting-Room And

Sat Down,  Leaning Forward On His Stout Cane,  Which He Held Upright

Between His Knees.

"We'd Have Got Here Sooner,  But He Stopped At The Telegraph-Office.

Dick,  He Has Sent A Telegram To Irene In Care Of The Hardys. I Saw By

That That He Didn't Suspect The Truth. I Tried To Think Of Some Way To

Prevent It,  But Couldn't. I Told Him I Was In A Hurry,  But He Would

Stop. Now I Suppose The Truth Will Have To Come Out."

"It Makes No Difference," Mostyn Answered. "It Might As Well Come Now

As Later."

They Went In And Took Their Seats Against The Wall In The Waiting-

Room. Mitchell Stared At Them Half Drowsily,  Betraying The Usual

Complacency Of Old Age In Regard To Serious Illness Or Death.

"Are They Going To Operate?" He Asked.

Mrs. Moore Told Him That It Had Already Been Done.

"And Irene Wasn't Here," The Old Man Sniffed,  In Rising Ire. "It Is A

Shame! I Reckon She Will Have The Decency To Take The First Train Home

Now. This Will Be A Lesson To Her,  I Hope."

The Nurse Came Down The Stairs Hurriedly. Her Face Was Swept With

Well-Controlled Dismay. She Paused In The Doorway. Her Eyes Met Those

Of The Brother And Sister.

"Dr. Loyd Thinks You'd Better Come Up."

"Is The Boy--Is--He Worse?" Mrs. Moore Asked.

"You Had Better Hurry," The Nurse Answered. "There Is Only A Minute--

If That. He Is Dying."

A Few Minutes Later Mostyn And His Sister Came Down The Stairs.

"Try To Realize What The Poor Little Darling Has Escaped," She Said.

"It May Be The Merciful Hand Of God,  Dick. I Know It Is Killing You,

But That Ought To Be _Some_ Comfort."

Irene And Buckton Were Still At The Hotel In Charleston. On The Second

Morning Following The Happenings Of The Foregoing Chapter They Were

Having Breakfast Served In Irene's Little Sitting-Room. In The Light

From The Window He Was Struck,  As He Had Been Struck Before,  By Her

Listless Mien And The Thickening Shadows Of Disillusionment In Her

Eyes. He Had To Remind Her That The Coffee-Urn Was At Her Elbow,  And

That He Would Not Take His Coffee From Any Hand But Hers Before She

Filled His Cup. Her Eggs And Bacon She Had Barely Touched. He Saw Her

Hands Quiver As She Passed His Cup. He Tried To Enliven Her By His

Cheerful Talk,  Telling Her That She Was Getting Weary Of The Town And

That They Must Move On To Savannah To Take The Steamer.

"New York Is The Place For Us," He Said. "There We Will Have So Much

To Do And See That You Won't Have Time To Get Homesick. I Really

Believe You _Are_ Homesick,  Darling. You See,  You Are A Belle At Home,

A Favorite With Every One,  And Here You Have To Be Satisfied With Just

Me. I Know I Am A Poor Substitute,  But I Adore You,  While They--"

"Don't Speak Of Home!" She Suddenly Burst Out,  Almost At The Point Of

Tears. "One Never Knows What Home Is Till One Leaves It Forever. Just

Think Of It--Why,  It Is Forever--Forever! When We Left I Did Not

Consider That At All. I Want To Tell You Something Very Strange. I

Almost Feel--I Hardly Know How To Put It--But I Almost Feel That A--A

New Spiritual Nature Is Hovering About Me,  Trying To Force Itself Into

My Body. Why,  I Feel So Tenderly About My Father That It Seems To Me

That I'd Rather See Him At This Moment And Undo What I've Done Than To

Possess The World. Whenever I Start To--To Speak Affectionately To You

A Cold Hand Seems To Fall On My Lips. That Is Why--Why I Locked The

Door Last Night. It Was Not The Headache,  As I Claimed. I Had Been

Thinking Of Dick--My Husband. I Believe He Is Trying To Undo His Past.

I Don't Believe A Man Could Love A Child As He Loves Ours And Be Very

Bad At Heart. Something Tells Me That I Ought To Have Stayed By Him At

All Costs. We Were Wrong In Marrying,  No Doubt; But Once It Was Done,

Once A Helpless Little Child Was In Our Care--"

"Ah,  I See,  Irene,  It Is The Boy,  After All. You Don't Mention Him

Often,  But Little Things You Drop Now And Then Show Which Way The Wind

Blows. Your Eyes Are On Every Child We Pass In The Street. Without

Knowing It You Are A Motherly Woman."

"Ah,  If You Only Knew--If Only I Could Tell You _Something_--" She

Broke Off,  Lowered Her Head To Her Hand,  And He Saw Her Breast Rise On

A Billow Of Emotion.

"Something About Your Child?" Buckton Queried,  Jealously.

She Nodded Faintly. He Heard Her Sigh. She Remained Mute And Still For

A Moment; Then She Said,  Falteringly:

"I Have A Strange Conviction That There Is Truth In The Belief Of Some

Psychologists I've Read About Who Claim That In Sleep Our Souls Leave

The Body And See And Experience Things Far Away."

"I Don't Believe Such Rubbish," Buckton Said,  Uneasily. "Do You Know

That People Who Harbor Such Ideas Generally Go Insane?"

"I Had A Strange Experience Night Before Last." Irene Quite Ignored

His Protest. "It Was Something Too Vivid To Be A Mere Dream. You Know

There Is A Difference Between A Dream And A Real Experience. I Mean

That One Seems Able To Tell The Two Apart."

"Perhaps We Had Better Say No More About It," Buckton Suggested.

"Don't You Think A Drive In The Open Air Would Do You Good?"

But Irene Failed To Hear What He Was Saying,  Or Was Treating It As Of

Little Consequence.

"Listen," She Persisted. "It Was Between Midnight And Dawn. I Had Been